


Easier Now That I Trust You

by Anarfea



Series: Laws of Men and Nature [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, F/F, Janine Moriarty - Freeform, Light Dom/sub, Missing Scene, implied Jim/Irene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarfea/pseuds/Anarfea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you want?”</p><p>She traced the contours of Mary’s face. “The world. You. To give the world to you. To be your world.”</p><p>“Sounds dangerous,” Mary murmured. And then, “sounds glorious.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easier Now That I Trust You

A single rose, so bloody a red the edges appeared to have been singed, sat in a cut crystal vase in the center of the conference room. Janine arched an eyebrow at Jim, who sat with his feet atop the table, texting with one hand and eating a bagel with the other. He smirked at her.

“It appears you have a secret admirer.”

She crossed to the table and picked up the card next to the vase. It was heavy, pure white stock emblazoned with a one-eyed demon and a single monogrammed “W.”

“What makes you think it’s for me?”

“Why would a lesbian send me flowers?”

“What lesbian?”

He crooked the pinky finger of the hand holding his bagel.

She rolled her eyes at him, but took up a place behind his shoulder.

Jim flicked his thumb over his phone, scrolling through photos of a lithe, pale, dark-haired woman in various states of undress, posed with an assortment of BDSM accoutrements. A bit thin for Janine’s taste, but her gray eyes were striking, and sharper than the points of her stiletto heels. “The Woman,” said the website masthead, and beneath it, “know when you are beaten.”

“Oh! _That_ woman. The one who broke up what’s his name, the novelist and his society wife. Irene Adler.” She remembered now, the paparazzi photos of her with the novelist’s wife, sunbathing nude outside a private villa, shot through a telephoto lens. Janine had believed that Irene had intended to be photographed. No one with skin that white was in the habit of sunbathing.

“The very same.” Jim’s words were muffled by a mouthful of bagel.

“What’s she want with you?” Because it had to be Jim she was interested in, whatever he’d said. It always was.

“My attention.”

“Likes to live dangerously, does she?”

Jim swallowed. “Apparently, yes.”

Her lips curled into a smile of their own accord. “My kind of woman.”

“I thought you might say that. You should book a session. See if she’s everything everyone says she is.”

The skin of her cheeks became tight, and her smile faltered. She wasn’t sure what was happening between her and Mary--they’d certainly never said they were exclusive, but it felt wrong somehow, the idea of being with someone else.

Jim set his phone down and blinked at her. “Really, Nini?”

She wrinkled her nose at the nickname. He hadn’t called her that since she was six.

“Alma’s _adorable_. I get what you see in her, I do, but don’t get _involved_.”

She pressed her lips together. “It’s not that.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not … submissive.”

His smile spread, slow and shark-like. “You don’t have to be. Pain is a pleasure all it’s own, my dear.”

She fought back her flush. This was ridiculous; she’d spent most of her teenaged years living among whores and porn stars and considered herself nigh unflappable, but if there was one subject that made her squeamish it her brother’s sex life, and he knew it.

Jim’s toothy grin collapsed as he giggled at her. “Oh, very well, I’ll do it. Find out of this play dominatrix has an actual sadistic streak.”

“I think that’d be better. I’m sure her clientele is mostly male, in any case. She might be suspicious, if it were me.”

His eyes twinkled. “You’d be surprised.”

 

Jim had booked a session with Irene. She could tell, of course, though he’d been considerate enough to mention only those details which related to work. There wasn’t a visible mark on him, but then again he was clothed head to toe, in a double breasted charcoal gucci suit and shiny black brogues. But there was a certain stiffness in his walk; he sat gingerly at his chair and didn’t loll about or cross his legs. He rolled his shoulders as he typed, and undid his top button beneath his necktie.

She thought about it as she lay curled around Mary’s back, one hand atop the soft curve of her thigh. It wasn’t that she wished she’d gone in his place. Irene was lovely; she understood why both men and women were offering whatever secrets they thought would earn her favor.  Still, she wasn’t Janine’s type. But for the first time since the night Janine had asked Mary to kill General Shan, when she’d been tired and ticked at Jim, and Mary had soothed her with a massage and then fucked her, first with her fingers and by the end with her whole hand, she found herself wondering if it might be nice, to give herself over to someone, to let a partner take control. Tie her up. Hold her down.

Mary seemed content to let Janine take the driver’s seat, understood intuitively that she preferred touching to being touched. And it was good, what they had. Tonight, Mary had arched up into her mouth, had clenched around her fingers until they cramped, coming so hard she soaked the sheets beneath them. After, they’d retreated to Janine’s side of the bed, both their heads on the same pillow.

“D’you ever wish--” Janine whispered into Mary’s nape.

Mary turned in her arms. “Hmmm?”

Her heart beat faster and her words tangled on her tongue.  “--that we didn’t need to sleep? That we could just keep going all night, and then just, go ‘bout our lives in the morning with no ill effects? Without drugs?”

“I rather like sleeping next to you.”

Janine smoothed Mary’s hair back from her forehead. “Don’t mind me, love, I’m knackered.”

“In a good way, I hope?”

“The very best,” she agreed, and kissed Mary’s shoulder.

 

“Good evening,” Janine smiled at the ginger woman who answered the door. Kate Macgowan. Adler’s PA, chauffeur, maid, and almost certainly, lover. Absolutely adorable in the pencil skirt you just knew she wore suspenders under. Probably sans knickers. “I’m here to see Miss Adler.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t come in without an appointment.” Her tone was polite enough, but her expression was pinched. “Miss Adler’s with a client.”

“Quite an illustrious one, so I’m told.”

Kate’s eyebrow flickered, but she recovered quickly. Poised. Discreet. Invaluable to her employer. Still, she was wary now, that she knew Janine knew.

Janine stuck her foot in the door to keep it from closing. She would hate to see these pumps scuffed, but she suspected that Irene’s submissive wasn’t the confrontational type.

“She’ll want to see me.” She played her trump card. “I’m James Moriarty’s personal secretary.”

Kate’s face lost what little color it had had to begin with. Lovely with that hair.  “Please come in.” She backed inside, taking small steps on her stiletto heels, opening the door behind her. “As I said, Miss Adler’s with a client. But please, make yourself comfortable, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet with you when she’s through.”

She inclined her head down the hall, and Janine followed her to an all white sitting room.  The curtains had been drawn for the evening, and the lamps gave everything a soft sort of glow, blunting the edges of the sleek modernity she suspected it had in daylight.

Janine perched on a white sofa and crossed her legs. “Fetch Miss Adler now, please.”

“Madam--”

“I have a message which is _extremely_ time sensitive. She’ll want to hear it, I promise you.”

Kate’s lips vanished into a thin line, but she left and returned with Irene Adler, clad in a sheer, black lace dress through which you could see her knickers and suspenders, and which left her breasts fully exposed. She wasn't tall, but still towered in her sky high heels. Her hair was piled atop her head like a crown. Janine managed to keep her eyes on Irene’s face, though she suspected Irene might have preferred she look. Irene’s features were hard, the skin around her eyes tight with barely concealed annoyance.

“Kate said you’ve a message for me?”

“More like I need to ask a favor.” She flashed a dazzling smile. “Sorry.”

Irene’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

“I need you to make a phone call.”

Irene put a hand on her hip. “To whom?”

“James Moriarty. He knows you’ve got something, something you don’t know what to do with, something you need us for. Whatever it is, I need you to call him and tell him, and _now_. I promise he’ll take your case, whatever it is.”

Irene hesitated.

“For free.” Janine added.

Irene smiled, then, though her gaze remained flinty, and put out her hand.

Kate blinked, but reached into her pocket and handed Irene a camera phone.

“What’s the number?” asked Irene.

She gave her Jim’s mobile.

 

“That was too close,” Janine clutched Mary to her. The bulk of Mary’s tactical vest against her breasts was comforting.

“You’re telling me. For a second there I thought he would do it, shoot the C4, blow us all sky high.”

Janine shook her head. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“I have to. We have to start talking about these things. He’s getting worse, and you know it.” Mary shook her head. “Thirty million pounds.”

Janine grimaced. “I’m not happy ‘bout it either, but I’m more cheesed off he’s cutting clients loose left and right. No one’s gonna work with us if that’s our reputation.”

Mary stroked her hair.

“I just wish he’d get over Sherlock bloody Holmes.”

Mary’s hand stilled against her neck. “I could have killed him tonight, you know. Even if Jim didn’t give the order, I’d have done it, if you wanted me to.”

Janine sighed. “If you’d’ve shot Sherlock, we’d’ve made a mortal enemy of the Ice Man, and that’s not something I’m keen to do.” It was too late; Sherrinford and Maupertuis had done that already, but there was no sense worrying about what couldn’t be undone and anyway it seemed the elder Holmes didn’t know.

She cupped the back of Mary’s head and kissed her, first just a brush of lips on lips, then deeper, dipping her tongue into Mary’s mouth as it softened beneath hers. She pulled off Mary’s black knit cap, ruffled her sweat-damp hair.

Mary broke the kiss. “We should shower. I’m grimy.”

Janine shook her head. “I want you now.”

She stepped backwards until the backs of her thighs touched the edge of the bed, then sat on it. For a few moments Mary stood, transfixed, watching Janine unfasten her blouse buttons. Then she began stripping out of her tactical gear. Janine’s pulse quickened, and the blood beneath her skin warmed it, sensitizing it to the whisper of silk as she let the blouse fall from her shoulders. She unhooked her skirt and let down the zip, sliding it over her hips, and toed off her shoes. She lay on her side and beckoned to Mary, who had shucked off her trousers and vest, was naked now except for a gray sports bra and matching knickers.

Mary climbed on the bed and rolled onto her side, her eyes locked on Janine’s, her face open, expectant.

Janine kissed her. It was fiercer this time, urgent now that they were in bed. She slotted a leg between Mary’s, let her rut against it as Janine nipped her lips and sucked her tongue. Dampness soaked through Mary’s cotton knickers and smeared Janine’s thigh. Mary moaned.

Janine wormed her bottom arm beneath Mary’s side, clasped the top one between Mary’s shoulder blades, and rolled onto her back, pulling Mary atop her.

Mary broke their kiss, brows furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Her voice was thick. “I don’t want to think. Make me feel good. Or hurt me, even.” She licked her lips. “Please.”

Mary pressed Janine’s crossed wrists against the bed, holding her down with one hand while the other slipped beneath her knickers, fingers curling into the slick heat waiting there.

“Oh, fuck, you _did_ want this, didn’t you,” Mary purred. “You don’t need any prep at all.” She smeared Janine’s juices over her clit, which swelled beneath her fingertips. Janine arched up into her hand. Mary pressed hard, slow circles against her clit, mirrored the gesture with her tongue, which she swirled Janine’s mouth.

After a moment, Mary plunged her fingers deeper, hooking them up inside, probing for the sensitive spot against Janine’s front wall. She bit Janine’s lower lip as she rocked her hand back and forth, grinding her palm into Janine’s clit and simultaneously rubbing her inside. Janine bucked up against her hand, cried out into her mouth. Mary pulled her fingers free, trailing wetness across Janine’s belly.

Mary squeezed her wrists. “If I let you go, can you hold still for me, or do I need to tie you?”

Heat flooded between her legs and made her stiff clit twitch. She wanted very badly to be bound, was certain Mary probably had something suitable in her tactical vest. Still, it seemed too much. “I can hold still.” She pronated her wrists, wriggling her fingers into the seam between the mattress and headboard.

Mary nodded, satisfied, and took a pillow and wedged it beneath Janine’s hips, then lowered her head between Janine’s thighs, spreading them apart with her palms. She sucked Janine’s swollen, sensitive clit into her mouth.

“Fuck!” Janine shouted, clawing her hands, scraping her knuckles against the wooden headboard. She understood, now, why people chose to be tied down, how much easier it might be not to fight. But she’d made her choice, and muttered “I’m fine,” when Mary glanced up from between her legs.

Mary tucked her head back down, but this time she was more gentle, tracing broad, flat strokes over her clit, tonguing up and down it like a light switch, and then across in a zigzag pattern. She let go of one of Janine’s thighs and slid her freed fingers inside her, hooking them up against her spongy g-spot as she lapped. Janine wrapped her legs around Mary, pulling her closer, arching up, chasing friction. It was almost impossible for her to come like this. Good as it was, there was too much wetness, not enough pressure or friction.

Mary seemed to sense this, and pulled back, laying a kiss over her mound, and then climbed her slowly, kissing her hip, her belly, her breasts, her neck, and then her mouth. She tasted her own tangy, musky flavor, like and yet unlike Mary’s.

Mary slotted their legs together again, as Janine had done before, and the cotton of her knickers provided exactly the friction Janine needed. She arched against Mary again, and Mary pushed back, grabbed her wrists and pinned them, her forearms hard against Janine’s. She would have bruises tomorrow; she wondered how it would feel, to ache and know Mary had done that to her, to have marks that Mary had put there. That thought, and the perfect pressure of Mary’s hip against her clit, made the muscles in her calves tighten, the tension at her core coil until, with a cry, she came shuddering against Mary’s thigh.

 

When she opened her eyes, Mary’s were scrutinizing her face. The vice-like grip on her wrists had slackened, but Mary still held her hands above her head.

“All right?” asked Mary.

It took a moment before she found breath to speak. “Brilliant.”

Mary broke into a smile and released her wrists, rolling onto her side.

Janine turned with her and stroked Mary’s hair. “How ‘bout you?”

“Amazing. You know I love seeing you like that.”

Janine did know, but it still wasn’t something she felt she could give often. “I know. I’d like to … to try more.”

“I’d like that.” Mary smiled.

“It’s easier, now that I trust you. I can imagine things I couldn’t before, with you.”

Mary hummed.

“I don’t just mean ….” she swallowed. She regularly swept her flats for bugs, but it still worried her, whispering this aloud. “What if it were just us, Mary?”

Mary’s focus sharpened, her eyes fully alert, afterglow evaporated.

“You said it yourself. Jim’s madder than a hatter. He’s burning everything we built. Sometimes I think he has a death wish. He’s bored of life. I thought Sherlock would distract him but he’s only made him worse.”

“What are you proposing?”

“I’m not sure yet. I hadn’t really thought on it, before now. But Jim keeps talking ‘bout some grand plan, the ‘Final Problem.’ He means to kill Sherlock, if he can’t have him, and I’ve already told you why I think that’s a poor idea, unless he means to kill Mycroft, too, and if we did that we’d spend the rest of our lives on the run unless we holed up in some rogue nation, and I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?”

She traced the contours of Mary’s face. “The world. You. To give the world to you. To be your world.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Mary murmured. And then, “sounds glorious.”

“Is that a yes, then?” Her blood was high again, all of the languor fled from her lips.

Mary smiled, a bright, wicked grin with none of the tenderness she’d shown Janine moments before. “That’s a yes.”

“The world, Mary,” Janine whispered, and kissed her.


End file.
